Sa terra desolada
(traduzione di The waste land di T.S. Eliot)

S'accumpanzamentu de sos mortos

I 
Abrile est su mese prus cruele, faghet
Bessire su lillà da sa terra dormida, ammisturat
Ammentos e desizos, ischidat
Sas raighinas dormidas cun sas abbas de beranu.
S'Ijerru nos mantezesit caldos carralzende
Sa terra de unu nie c'addrummentat, addeschende
Una trizili bida cun cardillones sicos.
S'Istiu nos fateit s'improvisada, benzende subra su Starnbengersee
Cun una irrasinada de abba; nos firmemus in unu colonnadu,
Pustis andemus suta su sole, in su in su Hofgarten,
Biemus cafè e arrejonemus pro un'ora.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
Cando fimus piseddos chi fimus allogados cun s'arciduca,
Fradile meu mi s'aiat gitu cun isse in islita
Eo m'assucconei, mi neit, Marì,
Marì, muntene-di forte. E nos imbolemus a punta fica.
In sos montes, cue unu si sentit libberu.
Eo legio meda a denote, e mi nd'ando a sud in Ijerru. 

Cales sunt sas raighinas chi s'aggantzant, cales ramos creschent
In custas pedras teremadas ? Fizu de s'omine,
Tue non podes narrer, ne addevinare, ca conosches solu
Unu muntone de immagines truncadas, inue batit su sole,
E s'arbure rutu non dat riparu, su grillu no accunnortat,
e s'arsada pedra non sonat de abba.
Solu b'est s'umbra suta custa pedra ruja,
( Beni-de a s'umbra de custa pedra ruja),
E deo bos apo a mustrare carchi cosa de diversu
Dae s'umbra bostra chi a manzanu bos ponet ifatu a palancadas
O dae s'umbra chi a serentina s'arritzat e torrat in bois;
bos apo a mustrare sa timoria in unu punzu de pruereddu.

Frish weht der Wind
Der Heimat zu
Mein Irisch Kind,
Wo weilest du ?

" Mi desti a prima bia sos giacintos un annu faghet;
" Mi ponzeint sa pisedda de sos giacintos."
- A onzi modu cando torremus in segus, a tardu, da su giardinu de sos giacintos,
Garrigos sos bratzos tuos, e umidos sos pilos, eo non podia
Faeddare, e mi mancaiat sa vista, non fia
Ne biu ne mortu, e non connoschia prus,
Isperiende in su coro de sa lughe, su silentziu.
Oed' und leer das Meer.

Tzia Sosostris. Addevinante famada,
fit arromadiada, mancari cussu pero'
fit connota comente sa femina prus sabia d'Europa
cun unu malignu matule de cartas. Milla, neit,
sa carta bostra, su marineri Feniciu Abburrigonadu
( Cussas sunt sas perlas chi fint sos ojos suos. Abbaida!)
Innoghe est sa Belladonna, sa Tzia de sas Rocas,
Sa tzia de sas situatziones.
Innoghe est s'omine cun sos tres fustes, e innoghe sa Roda,
E innoghe est su benduleju a un'oju, e custa carta,
chena figura, at carchicosa chi giughet a palas,
chi eo non poto bidere. No agato
s'impicadu. Time sa morte a modde.
Bido trumas de gente caminende in tundu.
Gratzias. Si bidides sa cara tzia Equitone
Nara-li chi che li giuto s'oroscupu eo matessi:
Unu depet stare gai atentu in custas dis.

Irreale tzitade,
Suta sa neula niedda de un'arbeschida de Ijerru,
Un truma de gente subra London Bridge, gai meda,
Mai aia cretidu chi sa morte nd'aiat isfatu gai tanta.
Alenos, curtzos e lascos, fint esalenados,
E totu isperiaiant sos pees issoro matessi.
Beniant pro su montigru e falaiant pro sa King William Street,
Fintzas a inue Saint Mary Woolnoth tocaiat sas oras
Cun unu sonu mortu subra s'urtimu tocu de sas noe.
Cue bidei unu chi connoschia, l'arressei, abboighende-li " Stetson !
" tue chi fist cun megus subra sa naves a Mylae !
"Cuddu mortu chi piantesti s'annu passadu in su giardinu
" bessidu est ? a frorit ocannu ?
"O s'astrau a s'ispensada at martzidu su prantarzu ?
" Mantene-che atesu su cane , iss'est amigu de s'omine,
" Si non cheres chi cun sas ungias ti nde lu boghet dae nou !
" Tue! hypocrite lecteur !- mon semblable,- mon frère! " 
Una partita a scacchi

II 
Su cadreone inue fit setzida, pariat unu tronu brunidu,
Lughiat in su marmaru inue su ispigru
Mantesu da colonnas traballiadas cun sarmentos de bide
E tra cussas un Cupidu doradu bogaiat cara
( Un'ateru cuaiat sos ogros suta s'ala)
Creschiat sas bampas de su candelabru de sete bratzos
Ispigritende sa lughe subra sa mesa
Sas lughiteddas de s'oraria sua pigaiat a l'abbojare,
Dae iscatuleddas de rasu, imboladu a machinu
In fialas de avoriu e bidru coloradu
Iscanzadas, istaiant apostados istranos nuscos sinteticos,
Unguentos, licuidos o in pruereddu- cunfundiant, trambullaiant
Annegaiant sos sensos in sos nuscos; trubados da s'aria
Frisca ch'intraiat dae su balcone, pigaiant 
Alimentende sas bampas de sa candela
Sulaiat su fumu suo intro sa licoreria,
Animende sos disegnos de sa bovida a cuadratos.
Un'immensu litu marinu addescadu cun ramine
Brusaiat birde-arantzu, coronadu dae sa pedra colorada,
In cussa lughe bassa unu delfinu isculpidu nadaiat.
Subra s'antiga tziminea fit pintada
Comente unu balcone chi dat subra s'areste issena,
Su tramunu de Philomela, da unu barbaru re
Gai malamente violada; epuru cue su lusignolu
Prenaiat totu su desertu cun boghe inviolabile
Galu fit a gianzulos, e galu su mundu sighit,
"jag jag" a origras brutas.
E ateras matas dae tempus sicas
Fint contende subra sos muros; formas fissadas
S'acioraiant, mugrende-si, faghiant silentziu in s'aposentu tancadu.
Passos trasinados in sas iscalas.
A sa lughe de su fogu, suta s'ispatzula, sos pilos suos
S'isparghiant in puntas de fogu,
Abbampados de paraulas, e luego falaiant lebios.

"So annerbiada istasero. So a petzos. Ista cun megus.
Faedda-mi. Proite no mi faeddas mai? Faedda.
A ite ses pensende? Pensende a ite? A ite?
No isco mai a ite ses pensende. Pensa."

Penso chi che semus in sa carrera de sos sorighes
Inue sos mortos ant perdidu sos ossos.

" It'est custu rumore? "
Su bentu suta sa gianna?"
" It'est custu rumore como? It'est fatende su bentu ?"
Nudda ancora nudda.

" Non connosches nudda? Non bides nudda? Non connosches Nudda?"

M'ammento
Cussas sunt sas perlas chi fint sos ogros suos.
" Ses biu o no? No as nudda in conca ?"

Ma
O O O O that Shakesperheian Rag…
Isse est gai elegante
Gai abbistu 
" Ite apo a fagher como? Ite fato? "
" Apo a bessire a fora comente so, e camino in carrera
" Totu ispilutriada. Comente amus a fagher cras ?

" Ite amus a faghere?"
S'abba calda a sas deghe.
E si proet , una machina tancada a sas batoro.
E amus a giogare una partida a scachi.
Tochende ogros chena pibiristas e aisetende chi tochent a sa gianna.

Cando su maridu de Lil benzeit cungedadu, eo nei-
Chena la fagher longa, bi lu nei eo matessi,
FAGHIDE LESTROS EST TEMPUS DE CHE BESSIRE
Como chi Alberto est pro furriare daedi un'acontza.
At a cherrer ischire ite nd'as fatu de su dinari chi ti deit
Pro t'acontzare sas barras. Ti l'at dadu. Fia cue.
Non nd'as prus mancunu, Lil, compora-ti una bella dentiera,
Isse neit, ti giuro, non ti poto bider goi.
E nemmancu eo, li nei, e pessa a cussu mischinu de Alberto,
Est stadu suta sas armas pro batoro annos, bisonzat chi si divertat,
E si no lu faghes tue, gia bi nde at ateras, li nei.
Oh, gai est, neit issa. Prus o mancu, li nei.
Tando apo a ischire a chi narrer gratzia, neit issa, abbaidende-mi fissa.
FAGHIDE LESTROS EST TEMPUS DE CHE BESSIRE
Si non nde ses cunbinta sighi-la gai, li nei
Bi nd'at aer ateras chi faghent e ischirriant pro te.
Ma si Alberto ti lassat non nerzat chi non t'ant avisada.
Non ti nde faghes sa birgonza, li nei, pares una trusa.
( E as solu trintunu annos.)

Non bi poto fagher nudda, neit issa, fatende su mutzighile,
Sunt cussa pastillias chi apo leadu pro aurtire.
(Nd'aiat gia chimbe e guasi si che fit morta pro George.)
Su farmacista mi neit chi gia fit andadu totu bene, ma da tando non so prus sa matessi.
Ses propriu una maca, li nei.
Bene, si Alberto non ti lassat in paghe, est su puntu, li nei.
Proite ti ses cojuada si no cherias aer fizos?
FAGHIDE LESTROS EST TEMPUS DE CHE BESSIRE
Bene, sa Dominiga chi Alberto torreit, chi aiant unu zampone a buddidu
So stadu inbitadu a chenare pro lu mandigare bellu caldu.
FAGHIDE LESTROS EST TEMPUS DE CHE BESSIRE
FAGHIDE LESTROS EST TEMPUS DE CHE BESSIRE
Bonanote Bill. Bonanote Lou. Bonanote May. Bonanote
Ciao ciao.Bonanote. Bonanote.
Bonanote signoras, bonanote bellas signoras. Bonanote, bonanote.
Sa preiga de su fogu

III

Sa tenda de su riu est truncada: sos urtimos poddighes de fozas
S'ataccant e s'affundant intro s'umida riba. Su bentu
Atraessat mudu sa terra niedda. Sas ninfas sunt partidas.
Dulche Tamigi, anda a bellu finzas a finire su cantu meu.
Su riu non trasinat ampullas boidas, pabiru de paninos,
Mucarolos de seda, scatulas de cartone, cicas de sigareta
O ateros testimonzos de sas notes de istiu. Sas ninfas sunt partidas.
E sos amigos issoro, sos eredes banduleris de sos diretores de banca;
Partidos chena aer lassadu indiritzu.
Acurtzu a s'abba de Leman mi so setzidu e apo prantu...
Dulche Tamigi, anda a bellu finzas a finire su cantu meu,
Dulche Tamigi, anda a bellu ca no canto ne forte ne altu.
Ma a palas mias in unu colpu de bentu fritu intendo 
Su trachidare de sos ossos, e su riere chi passat dae origra a origra.
Unu sorighe colat pasigu in mesu sas matas
Trasinende sa matza illudriada in s'oru
Mentre fia pischende in sa cora ischifosa
Un sero de ijerru addasegus de su serbatoiu de su gas
Pessende a s'annegamentu de su re frade meu
E a su re babbu meu mortu prima de a isse.
Corpos biancos e nudos subra s'umidu parinu terrinu
E ossos imbolados in unu isostre bassu e sicu,
Movidos solu da sos pees de sos sorighes, da annu in annu.
Ma a palas da tantu in tantu eo intendo
Sonos de trumbas e motores, chi ant a giughere
Sweeney da sa signora Porter in beranu.
O sa luna grara lughet subra sa signora Porter
E subra sa fiza
Chi si samunant sos pees in soda water
Et O ces voix d'enfants, chantant dans la coupole!

Tuit tuit tuit
Jag jag jag jag jag jag
Gai malamente violada.
Teriu

Irreale tzitade
Suta sa neula niedda de una serentina de ijerru
Il signor Eugenides, Su benduleju de Smirne
Cun sa barba longa, cun una bussacca prena de pabassa
C.i.f. Londra: documentos a vista,
M'imbiteit cun unu frantzesu popolare
A ismulzare impare in su Cannon Street Hotel
Pro sighire poi su fine chida a su Metropole.

A s'ora violeta, cando sos ogros e s'ischina
Si nde pesant da su scritoiu,cando su motore de s'omine aisetat
Pretzisu a unu taxi tocheddante bida,
Eo Tiresia, mancari tzegu, tocheddende tra duas bidas,
Omine betzu cun sas titas mustias de femina, poto bidere
A s'ora violeta , s'ora de su sero chi girat
A furriare, e recuit su marineri dae su mare,
Sa datilografa a domo a s'ora de su tè, isparitzat s'ismurzu,
Atzendet sa istufa, e aparitzat mandigu in scatula.
Fora de sa bentana cun perigulu apicada
A assutare sa robba sua tocada da s'ultimu sole,
Subra su divanu ( chi a de-note li faghet de letu)
Sunt ammuntonadas calzetas, pantofolas, camisetas e fascetas.
Eo Tiresia, betzu e cun sas titas acorrontzadas
Bidei s'iscena e nde addevinei su restu...
Eo puru aisetei s'istranzu aisetadu.
E millu innoghe, su pitzinnu bullancosu,
Un'impiegadu de un'agenzia pitica, cun sa borra in cara,
Unu de su popolu a su cale sa siguresa de se istat
Comente istat su tzlindru a unu poberu irrichidu.
Como est su momentu bonu, pessat isse,
Ant finidu de mandigare, issa est anneada e istraca
Chircat de la cunbinchere a sos carinnos
Chi non sunt furriados, mancari chena praghere.
Arroddonidu e detzisu, che li brincat a subra de botu;
Sas manos chirchende no agatant impedu;
Cun sa borra chi at no at bisonzu chi siat de acordu,
E leat comente benennidu cussa indiferentzia.
( E deo Tiresia apo penadu totu dae prima
Su chi si consumat in custu divanu o letu;
Eo chi mi setzei a Tebe suta sas murallias
E caminei prus in bassu in mesu a sos mortos.)
Li dat unu basu finale pro l'assigurare
E si nd'andat chirchende sas iscalas a s'iscuru...
Issa si girat e s'abbaidat unu momentu in s'ispigru,
S'abbizat apena chi s'amante ch'est bessidu;
Su cherveddu suo li permitit solu unu mesu pensamentu:
" Bene custa puru est fata: e deo so cuntenta chi siat fatu."

Cando una femina lezera s'abbassat a su divertimentu
E poi s'agatat sola de nou in s'aposentu,
Cun lebiu movimentu s'acontzat sos pilos
E ponet unu discu a sonare in su giradischi.

" Custa musica rassineit da me subra sas abbas"
E a longu pro su Strand, finzas a sa Queen Victoria Street.
O sa Tzitade, sa tzittade, a bortas poto intendere
Acurtzu a calchi tzilleri in Lower Thames Street,
Su gustosu gianzulu de unu mandolinu
E da intro arrejonos e rumores
Inue a mesudie sos piscadores si pasant: Inue sos muros
De Magnus Martyr muntenent
S'intregada bellesa de sos Ionicos oros biancos. 

Su riu suerat
Ozu e catramu
Sas chiatas colant
Cun sa furriante mare
Velas rujas
Suta a bentu girant subra pesantes alberaduras.
Sas chiatas ispinghent
Sos truncos perdidos in s'abba
In bassu pro su Greenwich 
A cudd'ala de s'isula de sos canes.
Weialala leia

Wallala leialala

Elisabetta e Leicester
Batint sos remos
Sa prua fit furmada
Da una conchillia dorada
Ruja e oro
Su passare de s'unda
Si truncat in sos oros
Su bentu de liante
Batit cun sa currente
Sonos de campanas
Turres biancas
Weilala leia
Wallala leialala

" Trams e arbures pruereddosos.
Highbury mi fateit. Richmond e Kew
Mi solobreit A Richmond istirei sos benugros
A cara a chelu subra su fundu de una istrinta canoa."

" sos pees mios sunt a Moorgate, e su coro meu
Suta sos pees. Pustis de su fatu prangheit.
Promiteit unu nou incumintzu. 
No nerzei nudda. De ite mi depo annuzare?

" In sa rena de Margate
Non mi resessit de pessare
Nudda cun nudda.
Sas ungias truncadas de manos brutas.
Sos mios, gente de pagu chi no aisetat
Nudda."

La la

A Cartagine dae poi mi nde benzei

Brusiende brusiende brusiende brusiende
O Sinnore Tue mi che leas
O Sinnore Tue leas

Brusiende.

Sa morte in s'abba

IV

Phlebas su Feniciu, mortu dae bindighi dies,
Ismentigheit sas boghes de sos corbos marinos, e sas undas de s'altu mare,
Su profetu e sa perdua

Una currente sutamare
L'ispurpeit sos ossos in murmutos. Comente afundaiat e pigaiat
Passaiat sas istajones de sa betzesa e sa pitzinnia
Inghiriende in su mulinu.

Gentile o Ebreu
O tue chi giras sa roda e abbaidas contrabentu
Pensa a Phlebas, chi unu tempus fit altu e bellu che a tie.

Cussu chi neit su tronu

V

Pustis de sa lughe ruja de sas torcias in sas caras sueradas
Pustis de su fritu silentziu de su giardinu
Pustis de s'agonia de logos pedrosos
Sas boghes e sos prantos
Sa presone e su palatu e su ritumbu
De su tronu in beranu in sos montes atesu
Isse chi fit biu est como mortu
Nois chi fimus bios como semus morzende
Cun unu pagu de passientzia.

Innoghe non c'at abba ma solu roca
Roca e no abba e sa carrera isterrada
Una carrera a curvas cue subra in su montes
Chi sunt montes de rocas chen'abba
Si che aiat apidu abba nos fimus firmados a biere
In mesu a sas rocas unu non si podet firmare ne pensare
Su suore est sicu e sos pees sunt in sa rena
Si solu b'aiat apidu abba in sa roca
Morta buca de monte da sos murales frazigos chi non podet catzare
Unu innoghe non podet stare in pees ne corcadu ne setzidu
Non b'at neemmancu silentziu in sos montes
Ma sicos lunaticos tronos chen'abba
Non b'at neemmancu soledade in sos montes
Ma rujas caras annicadas chi raunzant e ischirringiant
Da giannas de domos de ludu crebadu
Si che aiat apidu abba
E no roca
Si che aiat apidu roca
E puru abba
E abba
Una funtana
Unu poju in sas rocas
Si che aiat apidu solu sonu de abba
Non sa chigula
E fenu sicu cantende
Ma sonu de abba subra sa roca
Inue su turdu eremita cantat in mesu a sos pinos
Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop
Ma non b'at abba

Chi est su de tres chi semper ti cabulat a costazu ?
Cando conto bi semus solu tue e deo impare
Ma cando abbaido addainanti sa carrera bianca
B'at sempre un'ateru chi ti cabulat a costazu
Rassinende imboligadu cun unu mantellu nieddu, cugutadu
Eo non cumprendo si est un'omine o una femina
- Ma chi est chi ti est a s'ateru costzu ?

Ite est chi sonat altu in s'aera
Cussu murmutu lamentosu de mamas
Chi sunt cussas frotas cugutadas colende
subra paris chena fine, imbrunchende in sa terra crebada
Inghiriada solu da su parinu orizonte
Cale est cussa tzittade in sos montes
Chi si cracat e si torrat a furmare e tzoccat in s'aera violeta
Turres crollende
Gerusalemme Atene alessandria
Vienna Londra
Irreale

Una femina istendeit sos pilos suos nieddos e longos 
E isviolineit murmutos de musica da cussas corrias
E tirriolos a cara de criaduras in sa lughe violeta
Zanzulaiant, sparghende sas alas issoro
Trasinende-si a conca ficada in unu muru isnieddigadu
E covecadas in s'aria fint sas turres
Tocantes campanas chi ammentant, tocaiant sas oras
E boghes cantende da sas boidas baltzas e da sos putos sicos.

In custa desolada calanca in mesu a sos montes
In una lebia lughe de luna, s'erba est cantende
Subra sas tumbas covecadas, a inghiriu a sa capella
B'at una capella boida, sa domo de su bentu.
No at balcones, e sa gianna iscanzada,
Sos ossos sicos non faghent male a neune.
Solu unu puddu si pesaiat subra sa trae
Chirichichi chirichichi
Un'alluta de lampu. Posca un'ifusta isfrunzada
De abba pioia.
Su Gange fit cuasi sicu, e sas fozas allizadas
Isetaiant s'abba, sas nieddas nues
Si garrigaiant atesu, subra s'Himmalaja.
Sa jungla fit remonida, muda intro de issa.
Tando faeddeit su tronu
Da
Data: ite amus dadu nois?
Amigu meu, su sambene mi iscutinat su coro
Su terribile coragiu de unu momentu de abbandonu
Chi una bida de prudentzia non podet furriare
Non ant a esser agatados in sos necrologos nostros
O in sas memorias tessidas da unu ranzolu beneficu
O suta sos timbros truncados de unu carasadu notaiu
In sos nostros boidos aposentos
Da
Dayadhvam: apo intesu sa grae
Girare in sa upa e girare solu una borta
Nois pensamus a sa grae, onzunu in sa presone sua
Pensat a sa grae, onzunu cunfirmat una presone
Solu a de note, etereos murmutos
Nos torrant pro unu momentu un Coriolanu turdidu
Da
Damyata: sa barca rispondiat
Bene a sa manu esperta cun sa vela e cun su remu,
Su mare fit calmu, puru su coro tuo podet risponder
Bene a su bisonzu, batende ubbidiente
A sas manos controllantes.

Setzei in s'oru
A piscare, cun s'aridu paris addasegus de mene
Apo a resessire a sa fine a ponner ordine in sas terras mias?
Su London bridge nd'est falende, nd'est falende, nd'est falende
Poi s'ascosenel foco che gli affina
Quando fiam uti chelidon- O rundine rundine
Le prince d'Aquitaine à la tour abolie
Cun custos biculos apo puntelladu sas ruinas mias
Be tando bos sistemo eo. Hieronymu est torra macu.
Datta Dayadhvam. Damyata.
Shantish shantish shantish	
The burial of the dead

I
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land,mixing
Memory and desire, stitting
Dull roots with spring rain.

Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprisid us, coming over the Starnbegersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish ? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only

There is shadow under this red rock,
( Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear a handful of dust

Frish weht der Wind
Der Heimat zu
Mein Irisch Kind,
Wo weilest du ?

" You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
"They called me the hyacinth girl."
- Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinths garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Oed' und leer das meer.

Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,
Had a bad cold,nevertheless
Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,
With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,
Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,
(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look !)
Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,
The lady of situations.
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,
Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find
The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.
I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.
Thank you. If you dear Mrs. Equitone,
Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:
One must be so careful these days.

Unreal Citty,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying "Stetson !
" You who were with me in the ships at Mylae !
" That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
"Has it begun to sprout ? Will it bloom this year?
" Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed ?
"Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,
"Or with his nails he'll dig it up again!
"You! hypocrite lecteur ! - mon semblable - mon frère!"

A game of chess

II

The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,
Glowed on the marble, where the glass
Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines
From which a golden Cupidon peeped out
( Another hid his eyes behind his wing)
Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra
Reflecting light upon the table as
The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,
From satin cases poured in rich profusion;
In vials of ivory and coloured glass
Unstoppered, lurked her strange syntetic perfumes,
Unguent, powdered, or liquid- trobled, confused
And freshened from the window, these ascended
In fattening the prolonged candle-flames,
Flung their smoke into the laquearia,
Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.
Huge sea-wood fed with copper
Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone,
In which sad light a corved dolphin swam.
Above the antique mantel was displayed
As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene
The change of Philomel , by the barbarous king
So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale
Filled all the desert with inviolable voice
And still she cried, and still the world pursues, 
"Jug Jug" to dirty ears.
And other withered stumps of time
Were told upon the walls; staring forms
Leaned out, leaning, hushing, the room enclosed.
Footsteps shuffled on the stair.
Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair
Spread out in fiery points
Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.

" My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.
" Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak.
" What are you thinking of ? What thinking? What ?
" I never know what you are thinking. Think."

I think we are rat's alley
Where the dead men lost their bones.

"What is that noise ?"
The wind under the door.
"What is that noise now ? What is the wind doing ?"
Nothing again nothing. 

"Do you know nothing ? Do you see nothing? Do you remember nothing?"

I remember
Those are pearls that were his eyes.
" Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head ?"

But
O O O O that shakespeherian Rag-
It's so elegant
So intelligent
"What shall I do now ? What shall I do ?"
" I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street
" With my hair down, so. What shall we do tomorrow ?

"What shall we ever do ?"
The hot water at ten.
And if it rains, a closed car at four.
And we shall play a game of chess,
Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.

When Lil's husband got demobbed, I said-
I didn't mince my words, I said ti her myself,
URRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Now Albert's coming back make yourself a bit smart.
He'll want to know what you done with that money he gave you
To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there
You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set,
He said, I swear, I can't bear to look at you.
And no more can't I, I said, and think of poor Albert,
He's been in the army four years, he wants a good time,
And if you don't give it him, there's others will, I said.
Oh is there, she said. Something o' that, I said.
Then I'll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look.
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
If you don't like it you can get on with it, I said.
Others can pick and choose if you can't.
But if Albert makes off, it won't be for lack of telling.
You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique.
( And her only thirty-one)

I can't help it, she said, pulling a long face,
It's them pills I took to bring it off, she said.
(She's had five already, and nearly died of young George.)
The chemist said it would be all right, but I've never been the same.
You are a proper fool, I said.
Well, if Albert won't leave you alone,there it is, I said.
What you get married for if you don't want children ?
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,
And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot…
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Goonight Bill, Goonight Lou, Goonight May. Goonight
Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.
Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies. Good night, good night.

The fire sermon

III 

The river's tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf
Clutc and sink into the wet bank. The wind
Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymps are departed.
Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.
The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,
Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends
Or ather testomony of summer nights. The mymphos are departed.
And their friends, the loitering heirs of city director;
Departed have left no addresses.
By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept…
Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,
Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.
But at my back in a cold blast I hear
The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear. 
A rat crept softly through the vegetation
Dragging its slimy belly on the bank
While I was fishing in the dull canal
On a winter evening round behind the gashouse
Musing upon the king my brother's wreck
And on the king my father's death before him.
White bodies naked on the low damp ground
And bones cast in the little low dry garret,
Rattled by the rat's foot only, year to year.
But at my back from time to time I hear
The sound od horns and motors, which shall bring
Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring.
O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter
And on her daughter
They wash their feet in soda water
Et O ces voix d'enfants, chantant dans la coupole!

Twit twit twit
Jug jug jug jug jug jug
So rudely forc'd.
Tereu.

Unreal city
Under the brown fog of a winter noon
Mr. Eugenides the Smyrna merchant
Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants
C.i.f. London: document at sight,
Asked me in demotic French
To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel
Followed by a weekend at the Metropole.

At the violet hour, when the eyes and back
Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits
Like a taxi throbbing waiting,
I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives,
Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see
At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,
The typist home at teatime , clears her breakfast, lights,
Her stove, and lays out food in tins.
Out of the window perilously spread
Her drying combination touched by the sun's last rays,
On the divan are piled (at naight her bed)
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.
I Tiresia, old man with wrinkled dugs
Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest…
I too awaited the expected guest.
He, the young man carbuncular , arrives,
A small house agent's clerk, with one bold stare,
One of the low on whom assurance sits
As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.
The time is now propitious, as he guesses,
The meal is ended, she is bored and tired
Endeavours to engage her in caresses
Which still are unreproved, if undesired.
Flushed and decided, be assaults at once;
Exploring hands encounter no defence;
His vanity requeres no response,
And makes a welcome of indifference.
( And I Tiresias have foresuffered all
Enacted on this same divan or bed;
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall
And walked among the lowest of the dead.)
Bestows one final patronising kiss,
And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit…
She turns and looks a moment in the glass,
Hardly aware of her departed lover;
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:
" Well now that's done: and I'm glad it's over."

When lovely woman stoops to folly and
Paces about her room again, alone,
She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,
And puts a record on the gramaphone.

" This music crept by me upon the waters"
And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street.
O City city, I can sometimes hear
Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street,
The pleasant whining of a mandoline
And a clatter and a chatter from within
Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls
Of Magnus Martyr hold
Inexplicable splendeur of Ionian white and gold.

The river sweats
Olil and tar
The barges drift
With the turning tide
Red sails
To leeward, swing on the heavy spar
The barges wash
Drifting logs
Down Greenwich reach
Past the Isle of Dogs.
Weialala leia
Wallala leialala

Elizbeth and Leicester
Beating oars
The stern was formed
A gilded shell
Red and gold
The brisk swell 
Rippled both shores
Southwest wind
Carried down stream
The peal of bells
White towers
Weialala leia
Wallala leilala

"trams and dusty trees.
Highbury bore me. Richmond and kew
Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees
Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe"

" My feet are at Moorgate, and my heart
Under my feet. After the event
He wept. He promised " a new start "
I made no comment. What should I resent ?"

" On Margate Sands.
I can connect
Nothing with nothing.
The broken fingernails of dirty hands.
My people humble people who expect
Nothing."

La la

To Cathage then I came
Burning burning burning burning
O Lord Thou pluckest me out
O Lord Thou pluckest

Burning

Death by water

IV 

Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,
Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell
And the profit and loss. 

A current under sea
Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell
He passed the stages of his age and youth
Entering the whirlpool.

Gentile or Jew
O you who turn the wheel and look to windward,
Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.

What the thunder said

V 

After the torchlight red on sweaty faces
After the frosty silence in the gardens
After the agony in stony places
The shouting and the crying
Prison and palace and reverberation
Of thunder of spring over distant mountains
He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dyng
Whith a little patience

Here is no water only rock
Rock and no water and sandy road
The road winding above among the mountains
Which are mountains of rock without water
If there were water we should stop and drink
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand
If there were only water amongst the rock
Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit
Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit
There is not even silence in the mountains
But dry sterile thunder without rain
There is not even solitude in the mountains
But red sullen faces sneer and snarl
From doors of mudcracked houses
If there were water
And no rock
If there were rock
And also water
And water
A spring
A pool among the rock
If there were the sound of water only
Not the cicada
And dry grass singing
But sound of water over a rock
Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees
Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop 
But there is no water

Who is the third who walks always beside you?
When I count, there are only you and I together
But when I look ahead up the white road
There is always another one walking beside you
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded
I do not know whether a man or a woman
- But who is that on the other side of you?
What is that sound high in the air
Murmur of maternal lamentation
Who are those booded hordes swarming
Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth
Ringed by the flat horizon only
What is the city over the mountains
Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air
Falling towers
Jerusalem Athens Alexandria
Vienna London
Unreal 

A woman drew her long black hair out tight
And fiddled whisper music on those strings
And bats with baby faces in the violet light
Whistled, and beat their wings
And crawled head downward down a blackened wall
And upside down in air were towers
Tolling reminescent bells, that kept the hours
And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.

In this decayed hole among the mountains
In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing
Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel
There is empty chapel, only the wind's home.
It has no windows, and the door swings,
dry bones can harm no one.
Only a cock stood on the rooftree
Co co rico co co rico
In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust
Bringing rain
Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves
Waited for rain, while the black clouds
Gathered far distant, over Himavant.
The jungle crouched, humped in silence.
Then spoke the thunder
Da
Datta: what have we given?
My friend, blood shaking my heart
The awful daring of a moment's surrender
Which an age of prudence can never retract
By this, not to be found in our obituaries
Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider
Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor
In our empty rooms
Da
Dayadhvam:I have hears the key
Turn in the door once and turn once only
We think of the key, each in his prison
Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison
Only at nighefall, aethereal rumours
Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus
Da
Damayata: the boat responded
Gaily, the te hand expert with sail and oar
The sea was calm, your heart would have reponded
Gaily, when invited, beating obedient
To controlling hands

I sat upon the shore
Fishing, with the arid plain behind me
Shall I at least set my lands in order?
London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down
Poi s'ascose nel foco che gli affina
Quando fiam uti chelidon- O swallow swallow
Le Prince d'Aquitaine à la tour abolie
These fragments I have shored against my ruins
Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo's mad againe.
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
Shantih shantih shantih